First day of Spring

Did I know that the first of March was the beginning of Spring, meteorologically speaking? Whether I did or not, today was certainly just that, after the mists that have cloaked us for the past two days had dissipated. When I sat up drinking tea before I got up this morning, I could see this great bank of fog heading across the Firth from the mouth of the river, and by the time I was having breakfast we were once more in its clammy embrace. However, by the time I'd done my online Pilates class (triumph alert: I managed to get the Facebook live video to play on the TV, sound and all; no, I can't remember how I did it. Only rejoice.) the sun was reappearing. I phoned a friend I've not heard from in far too long, talked for the best part of an hour, and then made up for it (see yesterday's discussion) by an hour of ferocious gardening.

Perhaps that last phrase was ambiguous. Was I working ferociously? Well, yes ... but I was also attacked by the berberis I was attempting to tame. By the time I was bent sweatily over a thick branch I'd decided to remove altogether, I had a thorn sticking into my knuckle through the leather of a heavy gardening glove, a long bloody score down my forearm, and a stab wound in my thigh through quite thick jeans. The pruning saw and I prevailed, but it was a close-run thing.

WE HAD LUNCH IN THE GARDEN. It was warm and lovely, and a robin sang lustily throughout. I sat for a wicked hour in the sunshine, reading my book and thinking of nothing. See - I'm trying. And then we went for a not-too-strenuous walk in Benmore Gardens and met not a soul because we were late. My half-French family FaceTimed us while we were there, having just had an online Parents' meeting with the oldest granddaughter's teacher - she was happy and the rest of us were proud. 

And then the sunset sky happened, and I've put its stages together for this blip. The paler pink is what we could see out the front of the house, over the sea; the flaming red is from the back, facing the sunset. And my extra is another collage of the amazing lilies handed in last week by our neighbour when they heard about #1 son's new job: we think they've been grown in some medium that has had various colours of dye added. They're all opening out in a riot of brightness that I could resist no longer.

Now, at 11.30pm, it's really cold, and there are stars ...